


In green pastures

by MrsCaulfield



Series: Divine Intervention [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, An ode to White Suit Crowley, Anal Sex, Bible verses as bedroom talk bc why not if it works for them, Blasphemy, Blasphemy sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck yeah talk bible to me, Hand Jobs, Heed the tag this is heavy delusional blasphemy youve been warned, Humiliation kink, Lingerie, M/M, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29580807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: Anthony Crowley is a fine thing, and though Aziraphale has been allowed to possess many fine things in his life, it's a slippery downward skid along the slope bridging gratitude to greed.-Final installment for the Divine Intervention series
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Divine Intervention [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123709
Comments: 46
Kudos: 159
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Top Crowley Library





	In green pastures

**Author's Note:**

> *Opening guitars to R.E.M.'s _'Losing My Religion'_ plays in the distance*

His entire life, Aziraphale has always been unbelievably blessed. It isn’t only in terms of his privilege. From a young age, the vast majority of his endeavours have been filled with a significantly struggle-filled journey leading to inevitable success, a reward to reap in exchange for the sacrifice he has given.

Sacrifice. Loyalty. Gratitude—surely they all amount to just the same thing.

That's exactly how it has always worked, at least for Aziraphale.

He has had his fair share of achievements, but none have been as life-changing, earth-shattering, and mind-numbing as this.

He is dating Anthony Crowley.

He isn't quite sure what to do about it.

See, Anthony Crowley is a fine thing, and though he has been allowed to possess many fine things in his life, it's a slippery downward skid along the slope bridging gratitude to greed. For when one has been blessed all their life with many a fine thing, one after another, it must be questioned how much of a fine thing one person is allowed to have, how much they are entitled to, without needing to give anything more in return.

So he does what he does best, all that he knows how to do. Aziraphale prays.

With one palm and a forehead pressed to his living room wall, sweat breaking out from his overheated skin and Anthony's hand tracing hot paths inside his shirt, the other working his prick in relentless strokes, Aziraphale pants like a bitch in heat and he _prays._

"Do you know how stupidly gorgeous you are being this needy?" Anthony hisses into his neck, grazing the sharp points of his canines on pale skin. "Was barely even here for ten seconds and already you're bending over for me. I can take you on any surface and you'd just _let_ me. Won't you, pretty dove?"

Aziraphale lets out a desperate whine, his cock throbbing with his impending orgasm. "Yes." He grits his teeth as a familiar coil forms deep in his gut and he cranes his neck towards the ceiling, ready to praise. "Yes, I-I would, ah! F-for someone's sake, Anthony! I-I can't... hold... any longer."

"Why don't you just let go, angel?" Anthony says suggestively, his slick palm speeding up on Aziraphale's length. The heavens wait beyond a thin wall in his pleasure. Anthony noses a sliver of fabric off his shoulder, murmuring huskily into his soft skin. "I got you. We have all night. Wanna see you come."

With a keening moan, Aziraphale spills into his hand. "Anthony..."

Even with his back turned, he can feel Anthony's smug grin pressed into his nape, fading into a lingering kiss. "And do it again... and again."

 _"Thank you,"_ his lust-fogged brain, still catching up with the aftershocks of his orgasm, shoots up at the ceiling.

Behind him, Anthony stiffens. "No need to thank me, angel," he says, sounding just at the edge of confused. "That's the point of sex, isn't it?"

Red creeps up his neck, flooding his face with warmth. _Oh._ "I... I did not mean to say that out loud."

A beat of awkward silence passes. As the effect of his orgasm fades off and brings back his senses, Aziraphale finds his stomach filling with dread. 

"Who were you talking to?" 

Aziraphale sees no point in lying. "God," he replies, licking his dry lips, heart moving in palpitating motions. "It's just... it's nothing, dear, do not mind it."

"No no no, wait. Hang on." Hands grasp his shoulders and turn him around to face Anthony's starkly curious expression. "You were having an orgasm, and you _thanked_ God for it? You were _praying during sex?"_

"I never thought to force my religious preferences on you, Anthony," he responds haughtily.

"Angel, I hardly think even your local pastor would approve of this practice." 

Aziraphale pouts. "Well it is none of his business either. This is between me and the Almighty. Alone."

Anthony's mouth hangs open incredulously. In but a short moment, his dark red strands of hair, sticking up every which way, come under the attack of his frantic fingers. He paces a short expanse of the room, moving with serpentine grace that to this day, after all they’ve done, still has the overwhelming capability of stealing Aziraphale’s breath.

_He is so beautiful._

"Sorry, I think I need a moment to process this," he says. "Exactly how long have you been doing this?"

"Well, it isn't exactly something I do as a standard procedure, you know." Aziraphale smiles sheepishly. "Only since I met you."

Anthony freezes in his spot. "Why me?"

"Because." Aziraphale blushes furiously. "Oh, this is so very odd to discuss out loud. You must think me very strange."

"I'll try to understand," Anthony says consolingly, but there’s a minute furrow to his brow that Aziraphale tries not to read too much into. "I just need to know what's going on."

Aziraphale debates with himself for a moment. "Because it is all so _good."_

All this earns him is a hard stare. "You thank God for good sex."

"Well it is… rather _very_ good." He ducks his head, wary of looking straight at his lover’s expression. “Though I did try to warn you that it is strange.”

"How can it not be strange, Aziraphale? Fuck's sake, I'm still trying to process the fact that I've been having a _threesome_ with an invisible sky deity all these months!"

"That's quite an exaggeration. It's not as if _She_ is an active participant in it. We just, you know, _talk_ sometimes." Aziraphale wrings his fingers over his stomach, carefully avoiding his eyes.

When he finally dares to look, Anthony’s handsome face is a cacophony of emotion. There’s the distinct patience, one that he’s always had when it comes to Aziraphale. The natural curiosity that has landed him into trouble several times in his life. In the tip of his tongue, slipping out just so from the downturned corner of his lip, Aziraphale sees an intensity previously unbeknownst to him, a layer of fury underlying his infinitely more evident confusion. 

It’s gone in just a flicker, and Anthony scrubs his face, giving off a resigned sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. Sorry for getting worked up about it. S'pose I shouldn't judge you for your beliefs or anything."

Smiling, Aziraphale bounds up to his side, resting his chin on Anthony's shoulder, arms snaking around his trim waist. "I promise you, darling, it's nothing. Don't worry yourself about it."

Anthony relaxes his stance, extricating one of Aziraphale's hands from his waist to press a kiss to his wrist, and a warm feeling settles over him. 

"Just maybe keep your prayers in your head next time. S'weird hearing you talk to someone else like that. Kinda makes me angry, if I'm being honest."

Aziraphale huffs out a laugh, leaning forward to brush his lips to the underside of his jaw. "You have nothing to worry about at all, dearest."

* * *

The final fruit of the holy spirit is _self-control._ There are nine of them in all, as any righteous path-taker knows by heart. They aren’t that difficult to master. _Love. Agape._ To give it without uncertainty, without judgment, and to ask for nothing in return. _Joy._ He takes joy in even the simplest of pleasures, and the most extravagant of them as well. _Peace._ Never has his heart known much turmoil. He holds onto no grudge, lets the tendrils of tranquility wash over him when they can. _Patience._ One needs colossal amounts to be receptive to Her will. In searching for Her signs. _Kindness._ To respect and to help without expecting anything in return. A true follower will exhibit it in droves. _Goodness._ The virtue of a true disciple, the moral excellence of it. The path of the righteous, walked by the blessed. _Faithfulness._ To trust and remain true, and to stand strong in the face of wickedness. _Gentleness._ To keep one’s passions and strengths underlain by a calm, yet formidable disposition. 

It’s the final fruit that has been slowly crumbling inside Aziraphale from the moment he laid eyes on Anthony. The final fruit, self-control, a holy thing that when taken carelessly can easily become the fruit of temptation—precisely what Anthony Crowley and his _absurdly_ tight white suit is. That was In the Beginning, the Genesis of what will grow to be a creeping and uncontrollable _want._ An obsession well beyond his control, flung out of his grasp before he can fully curl his hands around it. Too late he realises that the desire has grown into a feverish thing, taking more than it's ever taken before, and hungry for even more. He can't seem to let go of Anthony. Every parting moment they have is a spiral of anxiety as he ruminates on how soon he can get to seeing him again. _(Does_ Anthony even want to see him again?) It's a dilemma that consumes him in his entirety, gobbles him whole, and he doubles up on his prayers, increases the time he spends on his daily devotions, and prays unceasingly.

He's on the book of Job right now. It’s suddenly become very relatable.

"When can I see you again?" Aziraphale asks as Anthony rises up from his bed after a shared night of passion. It's nearing midnight, and though there have been times that Anthony wouldn't leave until well into noon, he has to be at work early the next day. Thanks to Aziraphale, his Bentley is back up and running in tip-top condition, and Anthony's goodbyes are even more disheartening now that Aziraphale can't anymore suggest picking him up from work as an excuse to see him soon.

Anthony stretches his arms over his head, cracking a few knuckles. He's clad in his tight trousers, unzipped at the front and hanging low on his hips. He bends down to the floor to grab his discarded shirt and throws it over his shoulders.

While working on the buttons, he looks down at Aziraphale lying on the bed, furrowing his brow. "Why d'you sound like someone on a one night stand instead of my boyfriend?" He says, chuckling with amusement. "You know where I live. You have my number. You can see me whenever you like, conditions permitting."

It happens a few more times, Anthony becoming more baffled each time he says he has to leave and Aziraphale looking just about like they've sunk off from the Titanic. Aziraphale does appreciate his concern, his constant reassurances. He's so incredibly patient.

But he keeps praying, just in case. In case it isn't enough.

Eventually, Anthony wakes him up to early morning sunrise before Aziraphale can get up himself to do his morning devotions. _Drat._ He must’ve slept through his alarm. Anthony trails a finger down his sternum, moving delicately, like Aziraphale is a fragile thing that he must be careful not to break. A pair of lips skims down his jaw, tickling him with warm breaths. His voice still hoarse from sleep, Anthony asks, almost hesitantly, 

"Would you like it better if I just... don't leave?"

Aziraphale's eyes go wide, whites all around stormy grey, but he nods instantly, a burden being lifted off his chest. "Please? I would like that very much."

Within the week, almost all of Anthony's entire wardrobe is in Aziraphale's flat. The carpark below has made a space for the Bentley. There are shared breakfasts and a few late-night dinners, and of course, lots and lots of sex, done sporadically whenever they can, and even when they can't, a heated round of heavy petting will also suffice. It's almost bliss, and Aziraphale has no reason at all to complain.

It's all so _good_ that it feels like the gravest of sins to be receiving it all. 

It seems unrighteous to be allowed to have so much of a good thing, to suffer so much from not suffering at all.

So he increases his prayers and his gratitude and his devotions. Whenever Anthony is at work, he's neck-deep into a one-on-one with God. It consumes every remaining thought in his mind until it's all he can think about. His body, mind and soul, now only a vessel to carry him through fervent rounds of sex and incessant praying.

It doesn't take long for Anthony to notice, what with them basically living together now. 

"This has to stop." Anthony plucks his devotional book from his grasp and sets it down by the windowsill. With a hip cocked, he glowers down on a kneeling Aziraphale. "Fuck's sake, it's three-thirty in the morning. How can you even read without any lights on?"

Aziraphale prefers the meditative effects of natural light, whether by sun or moon, though he feels it a moot point to be mentioning that at the moment. "I told you not to worry about it."

"Well I'm worried about _you."_ Anthony crouches down, forearms resting on his hiked up knees, coming to eye level with him. "And don't give me all that schmuck about how this is just how your religion thing works, because I know for a fact you weren't always like this."

Aziraphale feels struck. "I don't know what—"

"Can't you just sit still for one night? Between all the fornicating and-and whatever this is, you look like you haven't slept in weeks!"

"It is nothing!"

"So you keep telling me. Something's bothering you, and Aziraphale we're, you know, this isn't just sex anymore. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about these things."

"I know, dear, and I don't mean to keep things from you, but I need you to understand that I can't stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

"This!" His hands flail wildly in the air, gesticulating at the window where the book sits, perched precariously. "The prayers and the thanking! It's all been going so well, I can't... I can't afford to lose all of it now." 

It's when he says this, and he sees the shift in Anthony's eyes and the deep-set concern in them, that it dawns on him just how _miserable_ he actually is. 

His eyes sting with emotion, his throat closing up as he speaks. 

"I've wanted you for so long, Anthony." He heaves in a dark breath, and Anthony’s eyes glint with a startled curiosity. A flicker of deep emotion. Azirpahale nearly sobs. _"So long._ I prayed, and I prayed for someone like you to come into my life, and She has been faithful in granting it to me. I cannot possibly mess this up. I must show Her how grateful I am for all of these blessings, or... or—"

"Or what?" Anthony snarls.

"Or She'll take you away from me." He's taken aback by how broken his own voice sounds. "I believe that She brought us together for a reason, my dear. We make each other whole."

Rather than softening, Anthony looks even more annoyed. "So you think we're soulmates, then."

"I don't believe in soulmates," responds Aziraphale. "I believe in the Divine Plan. In Her perfect will and timing."

"Supposing that She did, in fact, plan for us to be together, then why would She also want to take me away?"

Aziraphale falters. "Well, I... I worry that I am not good enough for a-a blessing of this magnitude."

A flash of fury raises hellfire on Anthony's expression, present for but a moment. Then he rises up, slapping a hand over his face and turning around. 

"My dear...?"

"You may never know whether you're good enough for God's oh-so-fucking holy _standards,_ but you can be damn sure you're more than good enough for _mine."_ He growls, low and menacing. "You can't just go into all these conjectures about what I will or will not do and not even account for my own choice on the matter!"

Aziraphale hangs his head in shame. "I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant to do at all." Anthony puts on his shirt, crossing the room in double-time to grab his satchel. Aziraphale's heart leaps madly up to his throat. He rises from the floor. "W-where are you going?"

Anthony stops his motions, his features darkening all at once.

"Here's something you should know about me, Aziraphale." His face, illuminated by moonlight and soft shadows, shifts slightly, his shoulders poised tight. He takes a step closer, picking up Aziraphale's chin with his finger and looking deep into his eyes. "I don't like to share what's _mine."_

Aziraphale's breath hitches in his throat. "How do you mean?" he asks weakly.

"If I'm going to have you, I want to have _all_ of you. For myself alone."

"You can't..." Aziraphale exhales shakily. "You can't possibly make me choose."

Anthony shrugs. "I'm a notoriously selfish lover, but I'm not gonna make the choice for you."

"Then I do have to choose."

"I don't give everything I have to make love to someone else's spoils." He glowers, gaze flicking down to Aziraphale's slightly parted lips. For a moment, Aziraphale expects to be kissed and he tips his head ever so slightly. But Anthony stops an inch away, entirely serious. "I'll not watch you do that to yourself when I know you deserve to be treated far better. "

"Anthony..."

“You deserve the stars, angel.” Anthony reaches into his bag, rummaging for a bit and fetching something in his closed palm. He transfers it to Aziraphale's hand. "You take some time to think about it. And when you're ready to choose, and _if_ that choice is me..."

Aziraphale stares down at his palm, where sits what he assumes to be a spare key to Anthony's flat.

Anthony leans close to his ear. _"I want you to offer yourself to me."_

Fishing his car keys from his bag, Anthony takes that moment to leave Aziraphale's flat.

* * *

In the two weeks that pass after Anthony walks out of his door, leaving only a key and a single command behind, Aziraphale has never known that time could be capable of stretching so excruciatingly long. He tries his best to fill them with the activities that always brought him peace and clarity in the past, only to find that meditating is a lot harder with nothing waiting for him afterwards. No wandering hands to grab him from behind, no sinful voice lingering by his ear as he’s taken right where he is, as he’s made into an unfurled sobbing mess. No mouth pressing hot on his own, making him forget his own name. Now there is only silence, settling from a density that increases with each passing day, leaving a marked constriction in his throat.

Most of all, he talks to Her again. Begs Her. Implores Her to point him towards the path of righteousness. He can still feel Her presence, an everlasting thing that lingers just the barest touch over his very soul. He knows She’s there. That She’s listening. That She knows all that he’s going through, every struggle that’s tearing him apart. Yet he is met only with silence. A silence that no longer brings him any semblance of relief.

From there, making the actual choice isn't as difficult as he initially feared it would be.

* * *

Aziraphale hasn't been inside Anthony's flat since that first time, and the unfamiliar surroundings serve only to amplify the queasiness in his stomach. Try as he might, he can't tamp down his worry. Even if Anthony did give him his key as an open invitation to come in whenever he likes. It isn’t too far of a leap for Anthony to regret his decision, regret that he didn't just break up with Aziraphale on the spot. Many things could have happened during that time they neither saw nor spoke to each other. There is a chance, even, that Anthony has chosen to forget all about him, and he'll come home from a late night catering job to find a scantily-clad Aziraphale and be outright disgusted.

The flat is empty and silent, and he doesn't exactly know what time Anthony will come back. Aziraphale fidgets with the edge of his lace robe, open along its entire length save for a strip of white silk tied around his waist. He takes one look in the mirror and flushes deeply. This feels dreadfully embarrassing. His creamy white skin, overlain only by sheer lace from his shoulders down to his calves, his bright pink nipples standing out from the canvas, with nothing underneath except for a pair of knickers with blue accents, he bares his body just as much as he will bare his soul—assuming that the offering will be accepted.

He fixes his hair, attempting to make something stylish with his wild curls. It may be the first time that he loses confidence in his own beauty. He's weak, both eagerly anticipating and dreading Anthony's appearance through the front door. There's no God to pray to now, no ceiling to count as flimsy solace in his moments of doubt.

All he can do is wait, and hope that Anthony will find his offering pleasing.

The door opens just as Aziraphale positions himself to stand in the middle of the sitting room. In comes Anthony, who at once notices that the lights are already on. His gaze flicks forward briefly before swinging back and finally landing on Aziraphale. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Anthony is wearing his slim white suit, the root of all this madness.

His Genesis and his Revelation. Right from In the Beginning down to wherever The End might be.

Anthony's gaze feels hot on his skin. He grins devilishly, scanning his attire appraisingly from head to toe, shadows forming in his tempestuous eyes.

Aziraphale resists the urge to draw into himself, keeping his arms steady at his sides. "Hello, Anthony."

The redhead throws off his satchel onto the floor, moving forward with long strides as he hones in on Aziraphale.

"I…" Aziraphale starts, hesitantly drawing a breath. Rapid warmth floods his cheeks. "I hope you are pleased with this… this offering."

"Kneel."

Aziraphale drops to his knees, the lace of his long robe fanning out below his thighs.

His heart has gone into overdrive, pounding with all its might as Anthony steps right in front of him. He keeps his gaze level, right at Anthony's waist while a hand comes to gently stroke his hair. Fire runs into his veins, sensations slowly driving him mad. The shore of self-control that took eons to build ebbing away from the force of the waves of Anthony’s desire.

"I'm ecstatic about your choice, dove."

Aziraphale licks his lips. "Actually, I want to ask first whether this is really how you want it. Whether this is final." His last word drops into a hesitant note, unsure how Anthony will respond. 

The hand in his hair drops to his shoulder, pulling back the sheer fabric until it rumples by the crook of his elbow. The nub on his newly exposed fat chest hardens into a peak, responding to the coolness. Aziraphale gasps as a shiver runs through him, his mind going hazy, vision blurring on the edges and drunk on the lust that is radiating from his devastatingly handsome lover in droves.

Anthony grazes his bare shoulder, smiling sinisterly. "Man cannot serve two masters, Aziraphale."

This almost snaps Aziraphale out of his lust-addled trance.

"You just quoted the bible," he gasps, flicking up to look at Anthony's face. "How did you—"

"There's a lot of things you don't yet know about me, sweetheart," Anthony replies smoothly, with only a hint of mischief to his tone.

It's a reawakening. A renewal of spirits. Suddenly, Aziraphale cannot fathom the perfection that is Anthony Crowley, his luck in having found him. The pool of desire burns in a pit in his stomach, growing in intensity, with its flames licking up his throat, parching up his tongue. He's thirsty. And he needs. He needs like he’s never needed anything else in his life.

He leans forward to mouth at Anthony's clothed cock, letting out a keening whine as his eyelids drift shut. A growing hardness presses against his lips, a taste of satisfaction to a parched tongue. To a prodigal son who has just found his way to righteousness.

Anthony grips his hair. "You like that, don't you?"

In response, Aziraphale sucks him through his trousers, a pool of spit blooming into the slippery fabric. Anthony groans obscenely, petting his hair. "Have you made your choice?" Aziraphale gives a desperate nod, and the hand on his hair tightens and tugs him backwards, craning his neck painfully. "Tell me, dove."

"You," Aziraphale utters shakily. "I am yours for the taking, if... if you would like to have me." He closes his eyes in shame. "If-if you want—"

Anthony shushes him immediately, brushing his knuckles to Aziraphale's jaw. "There’s no question, angel. I always want you. Was only waiting for you to find your way to me." Aziraphale shivers, leaning into the touch. "Gorgeous thing, so damn good for me. So eager to please me. How could I not take such a pretty offering?"

He steps back, moving to take a seat on the couch. Aziraphale watches with a hungry gaze as he spreads his thighs and nods towards his lap. "Well?"

Aziraphale rises briefly and sinks down again in between his legs. Without breaking Anthony's gaze, he unzips his trousers, steady hands working inside his pants to take out Anthony's fully hardened prick.

Without preamble, Aziraphale takes him into his mouth, eagerly sucking him off.

Anthony places a hand in his hair and groans. "Fuck!"

Aziraphale pulls back, swirling his tongue around the tip, wincing at the taste of the beaded precome that sits there. He doesn’t let it deter him.With longer strokes on the flat of his tongue, he slicks up Anthony's shaft and buries his nose into the coarse hair at the base, lapping him up like he's a full course meal at the Ritz. Then, he wraps his mouth around Anthony, moving down on him until he hits the back of his throat and he chokes on it. His entire body tingles with the sensation of being so filled, with the hardness heavy in his mouth, with the stuttered gruffs and deep, pleasured moans that Anthony makes. He pulls back and slams back down, gagging again and this time, tears prick his eyes and Anthony's hand tightens into a fist at the back of his head, pushing him further down. It's so so perfect. His limbs are on fire, his hands gripping Anthony's hips as he hollows his cheeks and lets Anthony move him up and down his length. Completely letting go. Relinquishing control of the pace, the depth, the intensity, to Anthony. 

To Anthony, and him alone. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _Shit, angel!_ How the fuck are you doing that?" 

Aziraphale moans around his cock, sucking greedily while Anthony trembles in his seat. "Angel, I'm about to—"

Aziraphale pulls off of him, replacing his mouth with his hand and stroking him to completion. With a loud, heady sigh, Anthony releases into his palm. It stains the dark of his trousers, slides back down his shaft to pool down at the base, mingling with the tufts of hair. Aziraphale looks on with rapt interest as Anthony's beautiful face unravels with his pleasure, and he’s consumed by a flicker of pride that courses over him without shame. Without regret. Because this is his true purpose, the long-standing fulfillment that he has long been after. And Aziraphale does it with the passion of a relentless worker, earning his bread and collecting the reward of his efforts.

Anthony leans on the back of his seat, looking down at the mess that has formed on his groin and abdomen. "Great job, angel. Now clean it up,” he says, somewhat breathlessly.

Aziraphale flushes. "Must I—"

The stern look that Anthony gives him effectively shuts him up.

Steeling himself, Aziraphale leans forward, taking out his tongue. He diligently laps at Anthony's seed, at all the traces of it that hasn't seeped into his clothes. It's cold and bitter, still entirely unpleasant. But his desire to appease Anthony wins over and he licks every drop, finishing it off by lightly caressing his tongue onto Anthony's now limp prick.

Anthony pats his lap and Aziraphale rises up to sling himself across Anthony's thighs, his legs dangling off to rest on the length of the sofa. Grinning, Anthony slides a hand into his robe, moving up his bare leg. Aziraphale shivers in anticipation. Unable to help himself, he leans in and kisses him. Anthony groans and returns the kiss just as fervently, his other hand drifting down from Aziraphale's bare shoulder to grab his chest, flicking at the hardened nipple. 

Aziraphale sighs into the kiss, sliding his face to mouth at Anthony's cheek before resting his head on his shoulder with a satisfied smile. 

"Look at you," Anthony whispers smugly, "Completely at my mercy. Not a shred of a fight in you, dove." His hand slides up to the inside of Aziraphale's thigh, eliciting a startled whimper. "Whatever shall I do with you, hm?"

"Will you take me to bed and fuck me?" Aziraphale begs shamelessly, throwing in his best pleading look while his hands fiddle with Anthony's collar and rub sensuous circles over his chest.

Anthony hums appreciatively. "Do you think you've earned it? Do you deserve to be taken in bed?"

He's not quite certain how to reply. Anthony slaps his thigh and grabs it harshly, fingernails digging into the flesh. Aziraphale’s lips part into a lengthy, obscene moan.

"Because what I think is that it hardly matters," Anthony continues, his voice heavy with lust. He murmurs into the side of Aziraphale's neck, fondling his breast. "You let me fuck you in an alley. You'll bend over for anyone. _Anything,_ so long as you get filled. That right, my pretty slut?"

Aziraphale shakes his head, struggling to keep his breathing normal. "N-no." He's losing coherence as Anthony's hand on his thigh travels further up and brushes his erection. "Won't do it... for anyone... only for you, Anthony."

"Well. I like the sound of that," he replies flippantly.

Aziraphale lets out a desperate whine as Anthony tugs his knickers aside to get at his throbbing cock, grasping it firmly at the base. Aziraphale starts to babble.

"O-only you can touch me, dear. Only... only you can have me! No one else. I won't... I can't..." His eyes squint shut and he keens when Anthony squeezes his cock. "No one else is enough." 

"That's right." Anthony gives him strong strokes, setting up a punishing pace. "I'm the only one who knows what you want. And the only one who'll give it in full. All I ask is that you remain faithful to _me._ Do you understand that?"

Aziraphale nods, winding his arms around Anthony's neck and clinging to his suit for dear life. "Yes, yes yes! I'll do anything, oh, darling, please. Please take me to bed, _please!"_

Without warning, Anthony takes him into his arms, carrying him off into the direction of the bedroom, and isn't that a heart-stopping reply to that far-off question he posed about Anthony's strength, back when he was only observing him from a safe distance while he served tables at a party.

He's thrown onto the bed, and he lands on the springs of a high-quality mattress, cool sheets hugging his warm skin all over. 

"Strip," Anthony commands. 

He hurries to get rid of what little clothing he has on. Anthony takes off his trousers and pants. His jacket falls into a heap on the floor next, and he's halfway through unbuttoning his shirt as he crawls on top of Aziraphale, setting him alight with the burn of his desire.

Tugging on the open flaps of his dress shirt, Aziraphale pulls him down into a deep, filthy kiss, their lips gliding every which way, tongues wandering the other's mouths. They moan at almost precisely the same time, and it's unerring evidence of just how much Anthony wants him. Wants him just as much as he wants Anthony. The relief that courses through him is indescribable. Never in his life has he felt so cared for. So worshiped. So, so _blessed._

Anthony breaks off the kiss, pushing himself up on his forearms and Aziraphale sighs dreamily, looking into his eyes as a soft beam lights up his face.

 _My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times,_ he thinks. And the thought comes to him so naturally he doesn’t even question it.

"Darling," he whispers gently, brushing a strand of red hair away from his forehead. "Take a look inside."

Initially, Anthony looks baffled. Comprehension dawns on him slowly and his brows climb up to his forehead. His hand wanders down Aziraphale's hips, slipping back to prod at his arse.

It's blocked. Anthony's grin widens as he pushes experimentally at the plug that Aziraphale has inserted earlier that day. "You perfect slut," Anthony remarks, moving backwards to stroke himself to full hardness. Aziraphale's mouth waters at the sight.

"Only for you, my dear." Aziraphale spreads his legs, hiking himself up by the knees, a needy mewl ready on his lips.

Briefly moving off to retrieve the lube from his nightstand drawer, Anthony promptly slicks up his fingers and pulls out the plug. He shoves two fingers inside Aziraphale, directly moving onto his sweet spot. Aziraphale wails.

"Only I can satisfy you," he declares, his perfectly shaped mouth skimming Aziraphale's chin. 

"Yes," Aziraphale replies with the barest coherency. "Only you."

Anthony moves up to look at him, mirth in his eyes as Aziraphale wraps his legs around his waist to urge his fingers even deeper. With a playful smirk, Anthony speaks, moving all over on top of him. "Come to me..." he drops a kiss to Aziraphale's cheek, "you who are weary..." another kiss to his jaw, "of mediocre sex..." he moves up to his ear, licking at the shell, "and I will give you _rest."_

Aziraphale pulls him down into a needy kiss that startles his lover, grazing his teeth on Anthony’s plump bottom lip. "You have no idea how _hot_ it is when you do that!" He presses more hard kisses to Anthony's pliant mouth, tightly gripping his jaw while Anthony huffs in amusement. "Anthony, take me. Have me. Use me. I need it, dearest, I need you so much. Inside me, please."

Anthony shushes him once more, brushing his lips on Aziraphale’s forehead to get him to calm down. He takes his hand from Aziraphale's arse to align his prick with his entrance. "I'll give you everything, my gorgeous angel. Anything you want. You need only ask _nicely."_

"Oh," Aziraphale says in awe, digging his heels into Anthony's back trying to push him further in. "Please," he whimpers.

Anthony gives him a chaste kiss. "Say your prayers, angel."

He shoves in, bottoming out in a single thrust.

Aziraphale's jaw hangs open, gaping wordlessly before releasing a deep moan. The sting of Anthony inside him blurs away from the enchanting sensation of being claimed. It fades off into a low hum, steadily being replaced with blissful, fiery pleasure that he has only ever experienced with Anthony. He chants a litany of _'yes!'_ interspersed with helpless whines. Anthony snaps his hips, inching him up further on the bed a few times before transitioning to long, slow thrusts, his heavy panting and the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room.

Aziraphale looks up at the ceiling and finds only Anthony's face, a pair of captivating brown eyes narrowed in concentration to give him what must certainly be the best fuck of his life. Aziraphale melts into the pillows as Anthony increases his pace, and with his eyes drifting shut in pleasure, he channels everything he has into doing what he does best—being good for Anthony.

He gazes up at his lover, indescribably beautiful in the twist of concentration on his face. The dance of the tendrils of perfection in his every single feature. Aziraphale is so _fond._

_The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want_

Anthony mouths along his jaw, sucking and leaving wet marks on his skin and bruises down the column of his neck.

_He makes me lie down in green pastures_

Broad hands move to grasp at Aziraphale's thighs, hiking them up to a more secure position on Anthony's waist. With this, Anthony's cock pounds even deeper, reaching every inch of Aziraphale's hot channel and making him scream.

Without warning, Aziraphale comes, wholly untouched, his seed staining all over his stomach as he screams Anthony's name.

_He leads me beside still waters_

"So good," Anthony says, grunting as he fucks him through his orgasm. "Y'feel way too good. My angel. _Mine mine mine—"_

Anthony is cut off by his own peak, shooting his load deep into Aziraphale with a heady moan. He drops his face into Aziraphale's neck when his limbs give out, and they take a moment to breathe together, a wave of tranquility washing over them as they move along with each other.

Aziraphale sinks into the mattress, fully sated. He turns his head, burying his nose in a sweet mass of dark red hair.

_He restores my soul_

Turning his head, Aziraphale presses a kiss to his temple.

"I love you." Anthony lifts his head, gaping at him. "I want to marry you," he adds as an afterthought.

Anthony gives an exhausted, breathless laugh. "You're the absolute best thing that's ever happened to me," he says. "Love you, too, angel."

Aziraphale sighs in relief. "And the other thing?"

Anthony reaches up to caress his cheek, turning serious. 

"What you were doing before... Aziraphale, I don't ever wanna see you torturing yourself like that again. Never doubt it. I always want to see you. Always _want_ you. I have you, dove. I'm never letting you go."

Aziraphale draws him into a tender kiss and is unable to help the whimper that escapes him.

"Are you happy with your choice?" Anthony asks once the kiss is broken.

A portion of Aziraphale's heart aches just to say it, but he has no doubt. He is a firm believer. A faithful follower.

"You have all of me," he tells Anthony, watching as a bright and relieved smile breaks out on his lover's handsome features. "I have absolutely no regrets."

Anthony kisses him again, soft and unhurried. He takes his time, reverently taking Aziraphale's upper lip in between his, and then the lower one.

 _"My soul yearns for you in the night,"_ he murmurs, his hand wandering down to spread Aziraphale's thighs, breaching his entrance with his fingers. Aziraphale cries from overstimulation, but his needy cock twitches in interest. _"In the morning my spirit longs for you."_

Anthony's other hand moves to take one of his, twining their fingers while Aziraphale thrusts his hips up to meet him, losing the ability to return the adoring kiss.

"Anthony, I love you," he says, laced with wonder. With all the love his frail, human heart can muster. With all the eagerness his steadfast, unfailing worship can provide. "Stay with me?"

"You know how it is, angel." Anthony chuckles lightly. "All I need is you. Your faith. Your loyalty."

"It's yours. No one else's." Aziraphale strokes his thumb over Anthony's hand, sighing as he's brought to another orgasm, significantly weaker than the first, but his limbs go numb and heavy and he can't think of anything else in his life that has ever felt this good.

Finally exhausted, Anthony rolls off to his side, leaning in with an arm drawn over Aziraphale's waist. He nuzzles Aziraphale's cheek, his words moving directly to his ear. _"If you remain in me, and my words remain in you..."_

Aziraphale's face splits into a cheeky smile. "You really must tell me how you've come to know so much about the bible, my dear."

Anthony gives a soft laugh, hugging him tighter, kissing the corner of his mouth. And oh, how Aziraphale loves him. Worships him. Delights in him.

_"Ask whatever you wish, my angel, and it will be done for you."_

-

**Author's Note:**

> **Acknowledgements**
> 
> First and foremost, I would like to thank the Almighty Cumbum Daddy Crowley, my Lord and Savior, my Alpha and Omega, he through whom all things are made possible for being so hot just by existing. I will always strive to exalt your name, because honestly this fandom doesn't appreciate that amazing white suit enough 
> 
> To my beta and partner in writer's crime Stef (crepesandoysters), thank you for enabling this whole thing. Smut and PWP is still wildly outside of my comfort zone as a writer, and I wouldn't have pushed through with this if it weren't for your constant support.
> 
> To my former institution, who housed and taught me in the ways of Christianity for all of 13 years and drilled into me the doctrines of Biblical interpretation, a shit ton of bible verses to memorize (I still have my Best in Bible Verses trophy! *blows into tissues*) and the principles of 'Godly' ways to desire a person and date them--this entire series would be so dry without all your help. I hope I've made you proud!
> 
> And lastly, to my mom, who I haven't seen in more than 2 years and suddenly blasted my Telegram with more than 100+ texts detailing how she had panicked over losing her sex drive with age and prayed every single day for a year for a rich man who was good in bed and IT WORKED, is now organizing a Bible missionary trip to express her gratitude: You'll never get to read this, but I hope you realise the impact you have.
> 
> And to everyone that followed this series and gave encouragement. You're the best. See yall in the next one!
> 
> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/angelsnuffbox) and/or [ Tumblr!](https://angelsnuffbox.tumblr.com/) I just made this tumblr and pls Im looking for friends 😭


End file.
